


Don't Leave the Party Dying

by saltycvs



Series: blood red nails [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Day 2: extravagance, F/F, Genderbending, Mafia Victor Nikiforov, Russian Mafia, They're blatantly lesbians, YOI Mafia Week, Yakuza, Yakuza Yuuri, undercover yuuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 16:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12084621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltycvs/pseuds/saltycvs
Summary: "Do you know how hard you are to find? They guard you like no other. But it makes sense, of course. You're one of a kind, aren't you, Eros?" Her voice slips over her name like honey, like molten gold.Yuuri's mind races, trying to piece it together. The woman is Russian, so perhaps she's an agent. Maybe Nikiforov heard about their plan, and sent someone of his own to catch Yuuri.Vika's arms are braced on the wall on each side of Yuuri, maybe Yuuri can reach her thigh, pull out the gun in seconds--"If you come with me, I can offer you anything." Vika continues. "Gold, jewels, freedom, pleasure upon pleasure until you're drowning in it--"





	Don't Leave the Party Dying

**Author's Note:**

> day 2 of YOI Mafia Week: Markings/Extravagance. 
> 
> There's a huge lack of fem AUs for these two, so I thought I could contribute to this week with some Genderbend. This was entirely shameless self-indulgence, I'm sorry. 
> 
> Considering this is self indulgence, some tweaks have been made. The Yakuza is a male exclusive society, in reality, there's no way Yuuri could be called ane-san. But, anyway, onto the lesbians. 
> 
> Title taken from Caravan Palace: Lone Digger.
> 
> Unbeaten.

“ _Can you hear me, ane-san?_ ”

“Loud and clear, Phi.” Yuuri taps the little earpiece with a perfectly manicured finger (nude, just like her sequined dress), nervously untucking a piece of curled hair and letting it fall over her ear.

Although she knows there’s no way the tiny device would be spotted (that’s why, although her dress and shoes are lavish, there’s no heavy jewellery on her neck or in her ears), she doesn’t want to take any chances. This is her most important assignment, the thing that’s been in work for years.

  
They’ve finally tracked Viktor Nikiforov down.

The man is _terribly_ illusive, for being the Pakhan of the most well-known bratva. A flash of silver on this security camera, a blurry figure on the next. Finding him is like searching for a needle in a haystack. For years, it has been proven completely worthless, but the Japanese are not known to give up.

“ _Awesome, eros. You look great. Just look around, that’s all we want. Get some of the gossip. If you find him, alert the boys, and they’ll rush in._ ” Phi chirps on the other side, her voice calming Yuuri down better than any self-induced pep talk ever could. “ _If there’s anything fishy going on, alert us immediately. You’re not to get into a scrap unless it’s necessary, it can alert him and his men._ ”

Yuuri nods, before remembering that Phi can’t see her, and answering with a quick

“Understood.” Her gun holster is heavy on her thigh. It’s only a small pistol, a far stretch from her usual rifle or even her SIG220, and it makes her nervous. Will she be able to reach it fast enough? Can she shoot it as well?

“ _Deep breaths, Eros. You’re our best. Now, we have some insider info—_ ”

Yuuri evens out her breaths, fingers running over the sequins of her expensive dress. The best. She is the best, isn’t she? And that is the problem, because this isn’t her choice. She doesn’t have a choice to be the best, or to do this or not. No, she must go into that ballroom, track down Nikiforov, and pass all the information to the _kumicho_.

  
They can’t be all as lucky as Phi.

She doesn’t belong to the yakuza. She might work for them, yes, but that’s because there isn’t a better hacker in all of Asia, she has the freedom of seeing her family, and her friends.

“ _His men are horribly loyal. We couldn’t even get so much as a peep from the most of them. However, someone gave us the clue that he’d be wearing some sort of gold bracelet tonight. It’s meant to be his favourite piece of jewellery. Kinda extra, isn’t he_?”

Yuuri doesn’t know how Phi, dragged into all this murder, into constant death, can be so cheerful. So colloquial. It’s part of the reason why Yuuri likes her so much. She makes her feel as if she’s worth something. As if they have a chance of being normal.

“Gold bracelet, got it.” Yuuri murmurs, as the door to the ballroom opens.

She’s immediately assaulted by bright lights, emitted from the hanging chandeliers. There’re so many in the vast space, just like the tables laden with food and drink. It’s the epitome of boundless extravagance, one that Yuuri has grown used to, over the years.

Supposedly, this mansion belongs to a certain Jean Jacques Leroy, a leader of a smaller gang, no one too important. Not in the Yakuza’s eyes, at least.

In fact, Yuuri is surprised Viktor would even be here. He’s not known to show up to show up to low-scale things like this. There’s no one altogether important attend. But, when the _kumicho_ received an anonymous tip that he’d be here, they decided to take a chance. After years of searching, anything would do.

And that’s when Yuuri came in.  
They dolled her up, in a long dress that reached the floor with a slit up the side, adorned with sequins and off the shoulder sleeves. In it, Yuuri feels uncomfortable. They’re no security of her dark, inconspicuous black gear. Here, she’ll draw all the attention to herself.

A quick survey around the room reveals that none of the faces are familiar, but Yuuri doesn’t expect them to be. Everyone’s low ranking, here. With families that specialise in drug distribution or the sex trade, mostly the ones that belong to inferior gangs or groups. She watches the women, in their gold jewellery and bright makeup, laugh, hanging onto the arms of their husbands, who flash their fancy watches and silver cufflinks. The ballroom is so full of pretences, of heavy-veiled rivalry, that is makes Yuuri wince.

“ _Everything’s looking good, Eros. Take some champagne, maybe talk to some people. Do you remember your cover?_ ”

“Word for word.” Yuuri says, drily.

She’s the wife of some Sato, who was unable to make it to the event, representing his branch from Kyoto. It’s vague enough so that people will just nod and say _ah, yes, the Kyoto branch, of course_. _The Japanese are ever so efficient_. She hadn’t been able to show herself in the scene, for her husband’s hesitation in involving his wife, but as they all know, _wives are the root of this, aren’t they_? That’ll entice some giggles, and she’ll slip right in.

A woman with red hair passes Yuuri, juggling a tray full of champagne flutes. Yuuri takes one, with a nod, and the woman smiles back, all teeth. “Enjoy, miss.” She says, before disappearing into the mingling crowd.

Taking a sip of the bubbly liquid, Yuuri lets it warm her, her eyes once again taking in her surroundings.

It’s to her surprise when she catches the sight of a woman, standing close to one of the columns, her own champagne flute held in an elegant grip, her nails painted a perfect red.

Yuuri hadn’t expected to be pin-pointed so soon, by anyone. She had arrived precisely at the perfect time; not too late, nor early, as to avoid catching too much attention. Her entrance had been simple, without any pomp. All precautions taken to make her blend in with everyone else.

The woman’s eyes are a bright blue, and they draw Yuuri in, so she returns the gaze. Everything about the woman seems to say that she’s amused; from the attractive quirk of her lips to the mirth in those crystal eyes. She raises her champagne flute to Yuuri, before taking a sip, her eyes never leaving Yuuri.

Yuuri shivers. Everything about the other should be illegal (and it probably _is_ ), from her silver bob of hair to pant suit that’s a perfect fit. She’s tall, with long legs that go on for miles, standing straight-backed even in her tall heels. Yuuri would never be able to walk on heels like that, let alone run— something that happens often. Everything about her exerts confidence, a charisma that makes Yuuri feel as if she’s drowning.

Before Yuuri can comprehend what is happening, the beautiful woman is making her way towards her, heels clicking against the polished floor.

Calm, Yuuri. She thinks, _pleads_ with herself. You’ve done this numerous times. You know your cover, there’s a gun strapped to your thigh.

“Hello, darling. What’s a pretty thing like you doing here?” The woman’s voice is a soft purr. An absolute sin that caresses Yuuri’s ear, much like the fine gold necklace around the woman’s neck. It’s pale, unblemished, just like everything else about the woman is, her dark suit contrasting against her skin, hugging her tightly in a way that makes Yuuri want to flush.

Yuuri swallows.

“Uhm.” Eloquent.

“Eros, your cover.” Phi says, urgently.

“My husband couldn’t make it, but I convinced him that this’ll be good for me. This is… my first time at a place such as this.” Yuuri says, flashing the other woman a smile, her eyes unable to meet the warm blue.

“Ah, your husband, of course. And you are…?”

“Sato Satchiko.” Yuuri replies, smoothly, having practised this until it became almost natural than her own name. She offers the other her hand, as per western tradition. They may be in Japan, but most of the audience is far from it.

“Wonderful, just like the owner.” The woman smirks.

Instead of shaking Yuuri’s hand, she brings it up to her painted red lips, pressing a kiss to it. It lingers, and when Yuuri finally takes her hand back, her heart beating fast, she can still feel the heat of them. None of the red had transferred.

  
Untraditional, but Yuuri doesn’t let that deter her, because she knows what she’s doing. She’s professional at this. The woman, albeit beautiful, could provide Yuuri with information.

“And you, then?” Yuuri puts on an eros-worthy smile. “Here with your husband, then? Perhaps you may introduce me—”

To her surprise, the woman laughs. Genuinely, warmly. It surprises her almost as much as much as the act itself. It’s too genuine for a setting as this. A perfectly-manicured finger taps her red lip.

“My husband? No, I don’t have a need for such a bother, if you catch my drift. Perhaps, you can share the sentiment.” Though her laugh fades away from her voice, it doesn’t from her eyes.

Yuuri takes a sip from her champagne, hearing Phi, far away, telling her to be careful. She doesn’t need the warning, she can tell. Something about the woman doesn’t sit right with her. The way she picked Yuuri out from the crowd, as if she’d been waiting for her, for precisely the moment when she may approach. Yuuri had been assured that no one knew her, and, how could they? She’s always staking out with a rifle.

“He’s an important man.” Vague, but it’ll do.

“Of course,” The woman says, smoothly. “And you’ll find that I’m an important woman.”

Yuuri raises her eyes from where she’d been considering her champagne, meeting the other’s gaze. If a look could pin her still, like an ornate butterfly, this one would.

“You may call me Vika.” The other smiles, leaning in close to Yuuri, close enough so that those perfect lips brush the shell of Yuuri’s ear.

Yuuri freezes. It is the same ear that has the little earpiece in it. She can only hope that her hair is still covering it completely, artfully arranged as it is. Her heart beats faster. This is far too close for her comfort, and her eyes race around the room, trying to see if anyone is looking at them. No one is, but the tension is palpable, everyone’s conversation seems stilted.

“I think it’s time we drop the facades, _da_?” This time, the warm laugh is far closer, and Yuuri feels an elegant hand tuck a lock of hair behind her air, exposing the earpiece.

Yuuri can hear Phi’s frantic questions, but they’re unclear. The blood is pounding in Yuuri’s ears. All her instincts tell her to run, to take her gun—but she can’t. There’s nowhere to go. This room is full of opposing gang members.

  
“I wouldn’t try anything, if I were you.”

Yuuri knows these words are not directly to her, as Vika’s lips are close to the ear piece, her breath warm.

“I have people here and outside, far more than you’ve brought.”

  
Vika’s hand slips around Yuuri’s hip and, with a great amount of gentleness that Yuuri didn't expect, she slips the earpiece out, and the next thing Yuuri knows, it's being crushed by the heel of a lacquered black Louboutin shoe.

"Let's not cause a scene, sweetheart." Once again, Vika doesn't tug, but instead applies small pressure to her hip, urging Yuuri to follow her.

Yuuri complies, just because she knows a scene isn't what either of them may benefit from. Maybe she'll have a chance at this woman, once they're alone. Find out who ratted Yuuri out. Who exactly is coming after her.

Vika leads them off from the ballroom, into one of the darker halls. It isn't lighted, but the bright light from the large chandeliers reaches it well enough so that Yuuri can see every detail of her face. The way it highlights her face is mesmerising.

The second they're out of sight, Vika crowds Yuuri into the wall, so quickly that she doesn't expect it, doesn't have time to jump out of the way, even with her instincts. But what good would that do? There's no where to go. Nowhere to fight.

"Do you know how hard you are to find? They guard you like no other. But it makes sense, of course. You're one of a kind, aren't you, Eros?" Her voice slips over the name like honey, like molten gold.

Yuuri's mind races, trying to piece it together. The woman is Russian, so perhaps she's an agent. Maybe Nikiforov heard about their plan, and sent someone of his own to catch Yuuri.

Vika's arms are braced on the wall on each side of Yuuri, maybe Yuuri can reach her thigh, pull out the gun in seconds--

"If you come with me, I can offer you anything." Vika continues. "Gold, jewels, freedom, pleasure upon pleasure until you're _drowning_ in it--"

That's what sets Yuuri off, kindling a fire inside her that she can't qual down. This woman, speaking about her as if she can be bought, as if all it takes it a few well-placed words. She is a part of the family. She can't rip her ties away, can't transfer loyalties. She owes a debt of her life to the _kumicho_.

"I'm not a prize to be won." Yuuri snaps.

That surprises Vika. She draws away, if only barely, those warm eyes settling on Yuuri once more. Her lips, which had been shocked into a pretty 'O' melt easily into a smile.

"No, you're not." She says, conversationally, as if she's commenting on something utterly mundane, one of her hands settling on Yuuri's waist, before slowly dropping lower, _lower_ \--

"And that's what makes you so special. You don't let yourself be passed along, from one _wakagashira_ to the next. You made a name for yourself, one that everyone knows, Katsuki Yuuri."

Her real name makes the blood run cold in her veins. This woman must have a file on her, this woman must--

Vika's hand trails lower, until it's on her thigh, and her fingers, which are tipped with red nails, red like her lipstick and the soles of her Louboutin shoes, trace the shape of her gun holster.

"Is this for me, [detka](/)?"

Yuuri's eyes flick down, just for a second, and in the dim light filling the hallway, she sees the flash of gold on Vika's wrist, where the sleeve of her suit had bunched up.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ane-San: big sister, in terms of the yakuza  
> Pakhan: head of a Russian bratva.  
> Kumicho: head of the Yakuza  
> wakagashira: 1st lieutenant/overseer  
> Detka: baby
> 
> (Please correct me on these, and if you think I should change it. The Russian bratva system is a lot easier for me to grasp, while the hierarchy of the Yakuza is super confusing.) 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please considering giving kudos or dropping a comment if you enjoyed :)
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr at saltycvs


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